


come as you are

by freefallvertigo



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 13 gate crashing a party bc shes horny lmao, Coming Out, F/F, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Quiet Sex, Top!Yaz, Vibrators, sonya being the gay ally we all deserve, this is the filthiest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefallvertigo/pseuds/freefallvertigo
Summary: The truth will out, but not before it has its fun.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 118





	come as you are

**Author's Note:**

> basically 14k of totally shameless smut (actually that’s a lie i got LOTS of shame) uhhh please enjoy

_"Absolutely sure y'don't fancy a trip?"_

Yaz closed her bedroom door shut with a soft click, instantly muffling the racket of obnoxiously raucous laughter and whatever current top 40 banger Sonya had deemed both hip and family-appropriate enough to qualify a slot in her playlist. She stopped in front of the mirror, phone sandwiched between ear and shoulder, and adjusted the hem of her dress. She hated that thing. Her mum, unfortunately, had insisted. 

_"Just had the vortex navigation catalyst upgraded after I dunno how many decades. Probably why I sound a little breathless. Dyin' to give it a go. Should knock about a hundredth of a second off our re-materialisation time! How ace is that?"_

Yaz settled onto her bed with a sigh. "Trust me, Doctor, I wish I could. It's Sonya's birthday, remember? Got the whole bloody family 'round over here."

What Yaz wouldn't give to be free of those itchy sequins and back into the comfort of her jeans and leather jacket; back into the comfort of her girlfriend's arms and careening recklessly through the expanse of space and time on a whim. She'd take a platoon of Judoon over her extended family's unrelenting questions. When was she going to find a nice man, settle down, marry, let somebody else take care of her? Her already limited reserve of polite smiles and carefully vague answers was fast diminishing.

If she bit her tongue any longer it might fall off.

_"Oh - 'course! Tell her I said happy birthday, eh? Oh. Wait. Should I have bought her somethin'? It's probably custom to buy your girlfriend's sister a present for her birthday, init? Hm. Think I probably have somethin' lying about the TARDIS. D'you think Sonya likes rocks?"_

"It's fine, babe," Yaz assured her around an endeared smile, leaning against the headboard. "My family doesn't even know we're dating. I haven't - haven't had that conversation with 'em, yet."

She'd been meaning to get around to it for a while.

Really.

Only, every time she opened her mouth to do just as much and found herself levelled with her mum's marginally suspicious eyes or her dad's encouragingly patient ones, she only ended up coming up with some other lame way to finish the sentence she'd started. 

_I've been meaning to tell you... we're out of milk._

_Do you remember the Doctor? Uh, I mean, our GP. Remember his name? Got a bit of a dodgy cough, is all._

She could only shake her head in frustration to think of it. They were her family; nothing she could say would change that. Their love was unconditional. So why did she clam up every time she tried to open up to them? 

On the other end of the line, she heard what sounded like the compression of bed springs. The Doctor - taking a brief respite from her endless repairs and upgrades. The quiet exhale she heard her release was probably a sigh bred from the relief of at long last taking the weight off her feet, but it gave Yaz an idea.

She glanced at the door.

If her parents were as predictable as she'd come to count on, she probably had around ten minutes before they arrived at the conclusion that she'd been missing for too long and came to find her; to drag her back into the sights of some nosy non-uncle with anchovy breath and a nephew she'd look positively adorable with. 

She repositioned the phone against her ear. "So, uh, updating the - the vortex collision-"

 _"Vortex navigation catalyst,"_ the Doctor amended helpfully.

"Right, yeah." She tugged absently at a loose sequin hanging from the bottom of her dress. "That's hard work, is it?"

_"Oh, I mean, it's hardly rocket science. Well. Technically, it's thousands of leagues beyond rocket science, but it's all one and the same to me, really."_

"Physically, I mean. It's hard work?"

_"Hmph. Could say that. Had to go right down to the bowels of the engine room, an' all. Bloody sweltering down there."_

"Yeah? Worked up a sweat, did you, Doctor?" Yaz was trying her best to weave a suggestive edge through her tone but - as was par for the course, really - her girlfriend remained oblivious.

_"Little bit, I s'pose. My body can regulate heat a lot-"_

"Doctor."

_"Hm?"_

Yaz closed her eyes and thudded her head against the headboard, frustrated. She supposed she wouldn't be the Doctor if she ever made it easy. Still. Yaz was running out of time. Perhaps a more direct approach was in order. "Did it get you dirty?"

_"Er-"_

"Maybe y'need to get out of those filthy clothes, Doctor, yeah?"

An agonising pause. Yaz could as good as _hear_ the penny dropping on the other end; the reverberations of it like a spinning top ripped loose on wooden floors as the Doctor processed. For an alleged genius-

_"Yaz, are you..."_

"Oh, my - Doctor, you're really making this impossible right now."

The Doctor breathed an all too knowing laugh. Again, Yaz heard the creak of bed springs. It hadn't dawned on her before, but - she frowned. "Wait a sec. Are you in my room, right now? Your mattress doesn't creak." The Doctor's mattress didn't make a sound, actually. Yaz would know.

_"Maybe."_

Yaz didn't have to be able to see the Doctor to envision the coy expression etched into the curves of her smiling mouth or the edges of her faux-innocent eyes.

_"What if I am?"_

One corner of Yaz's mouth lilted upwards.

Finally.

"I really hope you're not sitting on my clean sheets in your dirty clothes, Doctor," Yaz warned lowly, to the sound of something smashing and a ripple of good-natured cheer in the direction of the living room. She did her best to tune it out, grabbing her earphones from her nightstand and plugging them in to her ears. A family affair she could do without.

_"They're not even that-"_

"Take 'em off."

 _"All of 'em?"_ asked the Doctor, her voice barely a whisper in Yaz's ear.

"Yes. All of them. I want you to tell me when you're done, okay? And don't keep me waiti-"

 _"Done,"_ the Doctor blurted.

Yaz scoffed. "No way you got undressed that quickly."

 _"Well, y'didn't see how many clothes I had on to begin with,"_ the Doctor countered, somehow managing to come across as a hybrid of both meek and smug. 

Frown deepening, Yaz thought back to how taxed the Doctor had sounded when she'd first answered the phone; how she'd been quick to innocuously blame her shortness of breath on some form of gruelling mechanics she knew Yaz would have no grasp of. "Doctor..." Yaz leaned forwards, an undercurrent of suspicion suffusing her voice. "What were you really doing when I called?"

_"I - I told you."_

She sounded nervous.

"And I don't believe you." Yaz dragged her lower lip between her teeth, resisting a smirk. "Were you touching yourself, Doctor? Were you touching yourself on my bed?"

A broken inhale. She was caught and she knew it. Yaz settled back on the bed, and this time she didn't bite back the smirk. It was audible when she spoke next. "Were you touching yourself... and thinking about me?"

 _"I missed you,"_ the Doctor muttered sheepishly by way of confession.

Yaz's eyes fluttered closed as she pictured it: the Doctor sprawled out half-naked on her sheets, hand working furiously between her thighs, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she immersed herself in Yaz's lingering scent and imagined it was her who was driving her closer and closer to the edge. 

"And have you done that before?"

Yaz heard a sound like the rustling of a duvet. _"I always clean the sheets, if that's what you're worried about."_

"Always?" Yaz's smirk swelled into a full blown grin. "So, you have done it before."

 _"I can't help it, Yaz,"_ whined the Doctor. _"I try to distract myself, but I only ever end up thinkin' about your arms, or your back, or your thighs, or-"_

"My fingers?" Yaz drummed said fingers against her knee slowly. She wondered - what with Time Lords and their heightened perception - was the Doctor listening? Could she hear the pads of her fingertips tapping a menacingly slow rhythm against her own skin? Was it driving her insane?

 _"Yes,"_ breathed the Doctor. Her voice wobbled when she said, _"Always, your fingers."_

"Are you touching yourself right now?"

 _"No, I promise,"_ came the Doctor's hasty response. _"But - I mean, d'you... want me to?"_

At the sound of footsteps padding down the hall, Yaz held her breath and tugged an earphone out of her ear. She waited until the footsteps had long receded before tucking the bud back in. She turned the volume down just a little; not wanting to risk a most unwelcome surprise visitor.

_"Yaz?"_

"Still here, babe." She wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, thinking. "Tell me what it is you think about me doing to you."

_"Please, Yaz, can I-"_

"Not yet," she cut her off sternly. "I said, tell me. Don't think about sparing any details, either."

The Doctor's subsequent sigh sounded less angry than it did wondrously frustrated. _"I think about you - on top of me, usually. I think about your tongue... in my mouth, on my neck, at my throat. God, you've a brilliant tongue on you, Khan. Properly brilliant. I ever tell you that?"_

"What else?" prompted Yaz, glancing at the clock on her wall. She was going to have to move this along a little faster than she'd have liked.

_"I think about your fingers inside me, Yaz. Fast and clever. Just like you."_

Yaz swallowed tightly, heart rate spiking. "Doctor, I want you to finger yourself for me."

_"Really?"_

"Slowly. Just one, for now."

A whisper of a moan signalled to Yaz that the Doctor had complied with her command. She balled her fists on her lap as she listened to the Doctor's breathing pick up slowly; clipped nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm.

_"Oh, I wish this was you, Yaz. I really do."_

She wasn't alone in that.

"It's me. Close your eyes, Doctor. I'm right there with you. Can you feel me?" 

_"I can feel you. You feel so good. So, so good,"_ moaned the Doctor, and the husky streak to her voice had Yaz clenching her teeth. She wanted nothing more than to be touching the Doctor; to usurp her hand with her own and feel her come undone beneath her. _"Are you... are you touching yourself, Yaz?"_

Though the Doctor couldn't see her, Yaz shook her head. "I can't. Someone could walk in." By the feel of it, however, she was still going to have to change into a fresh pair of underwear before she went back out there. "You ready for another one, babe?"

_"Please."_

"Go ahead. And pick up the pace a bit, yeah?"

Each of the Doctor's rapt grunts caused another rivulet of arousal, like thick treacle, to pool in the base of Yaz's gut or else further dampen her already soaking underwear.

_"I'm so wet for you, Yaz. Christ, I'm so wet."_

Yaz mouthed the harshest expletive she knew. The Doctor always sounded so good, so hoarse and so maddeningly guttural, when she was in the clutches of ecstasy like that. She'd have liked to feel those moans hot against her ear; she'd have liked to swallow them whole, straight from the source.

_"Oh, Yaz..."_

"You're doing so well, Doctor. You're amazing." Yaz's fists were bunched in the covers at either side of her and she began to wonder if working herself up so much had been a bad idea. At least the Doctor would get the release she was craving. Yaz, on the other hand, would have to go out and brave her family shortly - all while pretending she hadn't just talked her secret girlfriend through a self-inflicted orgasm. "If you want, you can use your thumb to-"

_"Yes, please. Oh, please, Yaz. I need it."_

Yaz chuckled. "Okay, Doctor, but don't come until I tell you to. Y'understand?

_"I understand."_

She could practically hear the keen nod of the Doctor's head and then, when she presumably pressed the pad of her thumb to her clit, she could _definitely_ hear the static groan that followed.

_"I can't tell you how many times I've done this, Yaz. How many times I've snuck into your room while you were gone and lay down in your bed and - and - oh, god, I'm close."_

"Don't you dare come. Not yet." Yaz's mouth had gone hot and dry. She cleared her throat; willed her breathing to slow.

_"I won't. But, Yaz... I really am close."_

"You can hold it. Say it."

_"I - fuck - I can hold it, I can hold it."_

"Good girl," Yaz purred, deriving no small modicum of pleasure from the fact that those words alone would be ushering the Doctor towards a plunging edge she'd been strictly instructed not to topple over. "God, the things I'm gonna do to you when I see you, Doctor. You don't even know." 

_"Tell me, Yaz,"_ panted the Doctor. _"Tell me what you're - oh - what you're gonna do to me. Please."_

Eyes closed, Yaz didn't even think about what she said next; only gave voice to whatever images flashed indecently before her mind's eye.

"I'm gonna pin you to the wall and kiss you breathless, Doctor. Kiss you 'til that respiratory bypass of yours kicks in." She had an image of the Doctor pressed up against a wall while Yaz groped at her frenziedly and possessively, leaving sloppy kisses and lasting marks on her neck. Yaz's lips curled at the ends. "I'm gonna feel you up like a horny bloody teenager, Doctor, and only when you're begging me for it am I gonna fuck you."

Judging by the Doctor's frantic breathing - her virtually anguished whimpers - she hadn't been lying when she'd said she was close. _"How - how are you gonna fuck me?"_

"How do you want me to fuck you?"

 _"God, Yaz, any way you want me."_ The Doctor's voice was several notches higher than usual, every word a strained labour of love.

"Not good enough. Tell me what you really want."

_"Please, Yaz, let me co-"_

"Hold on, Doctor. We're not done."

_"Okay, okay - uh. I want - I want your head between my thighs, Yaz. I want to feel your tongue inside me. Tasting me. Fuck, I - I did tell you how brilliant that tongue is, didn't I?"_

Yaz resisted a laugh. The Doctor loved to flatter when it suited her. That said, Yaz _had_ kept her hovering at the precipice for a while, now. If she let that amassing pressure build up any longer, the Doctor might well burst at the seams.

"Beg me for it and it's yours," Yaz said, darkly.

The Doctor didn't need to be told twice.

 _"Please, Yaz, please - I need to come. Please, let me come. I'm so close. I want to - I want to come for you."_ Totally shameless, the Doctor carried on in this vein; every beg a needy whimper. 

Yaz let her go on grovelling for just a moment more, relishing in just how much control she held over the Doctor; relishing in all that power. It was not, after all, something the Doctor so readily relinquished. Not to just anyone. It gave Yaz a rush, true, but she also knew not to push its limits. 

Yaz opened her mouth to finally grant the Doctor the release she'd surrendered all her dignity to beg for, when-

"Yaz?" The door to Yaz's bedroom swung open without warning and her mum poked her head around the door, scowling when she spotted Yaz sitting on her bed with her earphones in.

“Mum!” Yaz didn't even think before tearing her earphones out and hanging up the phone. “Ever heard of knocking?”

"Oh, well, excuse me. This _is_ still my house, Mrs. And what on earth are you doing in here listening to music on your own?” demanded her mum, hands at her hips. “Your whole family's out there asking about you! Come on! Uncle Raj wants you to meet his nephew."

"'Course he does," Yaz grumbled, feeling the heat in her cheeks instantly begin to ebb. 

"What was that?"

"Nothing, mum," sighed Yaz. "I'm coming."

She wondered if the Doctor was, too.

* * *

"Having a good birthday, Son?" ribbed Yaz, not five minutes later.

She'd managed to politely, and somewhat unsuccessfully, turn down a secondhand marriage proposal and excuse herself from Uncle Raj's relentless efforts at nosing into her personal and romantic life. Seeking out a marginally friendlier face, she found Sonya in the kitchen - clandestinely trying to dose her squash with something directly from a hip flask.

She jumped when she heard Yaz, slipping the flask into her back pocket. Her efforts at nonchalance were admirable. "Uh, hi Yaz. No. Yeah. Sorry, what did you want?"

"Subtle." Yaz considered chiding her. Given that it was her eighteenth birthday, however, she opted to let her indiscretion slide. Besides, she didn't blame her for needing the liquid courage to put up with this particular party. It certainly wasn't Sonya's design. 

Sonya rolled her eyes. "Don't even try having a go, Yaz. I've had to fend off about fifteen of Sheffield's most eligible bachelors in the past hour - and where've you been?"

Yaz spread her hands in surrender. "All right, take it easy. Y'just might wanna do that somewhere a bit more private, is all. Eyes everywhere, mate."

"Yaz, am I running a serious fever or did you just actively encourage me to drink in secret?" Sonya asked, regarding Yaz as if she were an alien wearing her sister's skin. "You've changed loads since you got with that older bird. Not that I'm complaining, like."

"What?" Yaz's cheeks darkened as she opened and then closed her mouth, caught entirely by Sonya's blasé accusation. "She's not - I'm not-"

"Oh, spare me. It's not me you've got to worry about." Sonya sipped her drink with a scarcely concealed grimace, eyeing their guests across the kitchen counter. "Family group chat's gonna go mental when you finally tell 'em, you know? Auntie Amaya's probably gonna have another heart attack. She still doesn't even know her son's a flaming-"

"Son!" hissed Yaz.

"What? Just sayin'." Sonya shrugged, offering her glass to Yaz.

Yaz considered rejecting it - she didn't drink, typically - but after sparing a glance at the clock and contemplating how much longer she'd have to suffer their guests, she figured it might help to relax a little. When she accepted the glass, Sonya raised her eyebrows but said nothing. 

"Go on then, how long have you known?" wondered Yaz. She wet her lips on the drink and cringed; the ratio of spirit to squash vastly disproportionate. 

"Yaz, you are aware your secret girlfriend practically paints herself in rainbows, aren't you? Like, it's not just me who sees that?"

Despite herself, Yaz laughed. "She's just... quirky."

"Is that what they're callin' it these days?"

Sonya sent Yaz a look. It was the kind of look exclusive only to siblings; a look that said, _yeah, I'm having a dig, but I've also got your back_. Following another small sip, Yaz handed the glass back with a grateful nod. 

"Thanks, Son."

"For what?"

"Just - thanks." 

Sonya cocked a shoulder like she had no idea what Yaz was referring to; like she had no idea how big a deal it was that she wasn't making a big deal of this. "Whatever, weirdo. I'm gonna go drop a tab in the bathroom. You're cool with that, now, right?"

"Piss off," said Yaz, giving her sister a half-hearted slap on the shoulder as she walked away. 

Nevertheless, she watched her go with a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. If only the rest of her family were as totally apathetic to her love life.

Yaz was just steeling herself to go back out and mingle when there came a series of loud, frantic raps on the front door - clear as a bell even over the music. Her dad popped his head around the corner. He smiled when he spotted Yaz.

"Yaz, love, would you mind getting the door for us? I'm in the middle of a very heated game of charades over here."

Yaz pursed her lips the affirmative, bracing herself to open the door to either the stuffy embrace of an overly affectionate family friend or an underhand slight at the hands of a snooty distant relative. What she got instead was nowhere close to either of those things.

The moment she opened the door, two hands shot out and yanked her into the hallway by her hips. One such hand moved to muffle her consequent yelp of surprise and Yaz recognised the sugary scent of her before her eyes caught up; finding puckish hazel-golds peering down at her from mere centimetres away.

"Hiya, killer," purred the Doctor. "Love the dress."

"Wh - Doctor?" Yaz pushed the Doctor's hand off her mouth and pulled the door beside them firmly shut, making sure to be as quiet about it as possible. "What on earth are you doing here?"

The Doctor pressed her hands to the wall at either side of Yaz's head. "You hung up on me," she said with a pout. "Left me hangin'. After I begged, an' all. That weren't very nice."

"My mum walked in!" shrilled Yaz. "Do I need to remind you that I've a flat full of people in there? You really can't be here, Doctor."

"But, Yaz..." whined the Doctor, nestling her nose against Yaz's neck and chasing it with her lips. Her mouth grazed her skin and Yaz's body involuntarily slackened; eyelids fluttering. Unthinking, Yaz let her hands grasp at the lapels of the Doctor's coat. "You didn't even let me come," she muttered into her ear. "I was so close."

Yaz regarded her girlfriend - blown pupils, slightly mussed hair, pink cheeks - and her eyebrows drifted inward as she slotted the pieces together. "You mean you didn't..."

"'Course I didn't." The Doctor looked visibly affronted. "You told me not to."

For reasons unknown, the matter-of-fact way in which the Doctor said those last five words set off a starburst of arousal like a finale-grade firework in Yaz's gut. _You told me not to. I'll do whatever you want. I'm putty in your hands_.

"You'll do anythin' I say, won't you?" probed Yaz, somewhat experimentally.

The Doctor hummed against her ear. "Anythin'."

Yaz was well aware that her family was just through the door - and that was certainly a predicament - but hell, if she didn't want to just take the Doctor right there.

She who had followed Yaz's instructions to the letter and now stood rumpled and desperate and dying to be touched. The Doctor cupped Yaz from behind, the fabric of her dress bunching in her hands as she continued to dust her impossibly smooth pink lips across the tender spot below her earlobe. 

Music thumping like a second heartbeat through the wall at her back, Yaz allowed the gratification of adrenaline to surpass all logic when she removed one of the Doctor's hands from her backside and guided it instead to the inside of her thigh, right below the hem of her dress. 

The Doctor pulled back only enough to search Yaz's face; a silent question leaping from the slant of her brow.

"Do it," Yaz husked.

Grinning like the devil herself at Yaz's assuredness, the Doctor walked her fingers leisurely beneath the burgundy fabric and up along the inseam of her leg.

Yaz glanced nervously at the door, her efforts at caution thrown out the window when the Doctor captured her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Yaz's pulse was a feral thing when she kissed her back. Any efforts to tame it, she knew, would be futile.

When the Doctor pressed two fingers flat against Yaz through her underwear, Yaz groaned against the Doctor's mouth. The Doctor caught Yaz's lower lip between her teeth, tugging only gently as she made slow, concentric motions with her fingers. Moisture seeped through the thin fabric at the Doctor's gentle coaxing. Yaz's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't have hid how affected she was if she'd tried.

Mouths moving wet and languid against one another, the Doctor pinched the edge of Yaz's underwear as if to push it aside and allow for easier entry. Yaz braced herself; fingers digging into the Doctor's shoulders. The very tips of the Doctor's fingers slipped just far enough inside to gingerly dab at the slick heat waiting to greet her. 

The door handle jerked.

Yaz all but shoved the Doctor away from her, sending her girlfriend stumbling several stunned steps backwards before righting herself just in time to see Najia leaning out into the hallway with a pinched brow. 

"Yaz, love, what - oh. Doctor?" Najia did a double take when she saw the Doctor standing there, hands stuffed into her pockets and a way-too easy smile on her face.

"Hi, Yaz's mum!" she beamed, mercifully drawing Najia's gaze as Yaz subtly straightened out the telltale creases wrinkling her dress.

"It's Najia," corrected Najia, albeit in a perfunctory fashion.

Yaz thought she saw the Doctor move as if to hug her. In all likelihood remembering where her hand had been just moments prior, she sagely opted against it and rocked forwards on the toes of her boots instead. It bewildered Yaz how easily the Doctor recovered herself; how swiftly she shifted from desperate, needy mess to the picture of nonchalance she currently was.

"Haven't seen you in a while, love," remarked Najia, stepping fully out into the hallway. Her eyes flitted between Yaz and the Doctor and Yaz thought she could make out a fine film of suspicion clinging to her features. "What brings you here? You do know it's Sonya's birthday?"

"I do! Just thought I'd swing by to drop this off," said the Doctor, reaching into her inside pocket and withdrawing a small white box with a stark red ribbon tied on top. "I were in the neighbourhood anyway."

Out of her mum's eye line, Yaz quirked an impressed brow. The Doctor really had come prepared.

"Doctor, you - you _really_ didn't have to do that," said Najia, the wary edge to her voice capitulating to a purportedly endeared appreciation. Oh, the Doctor was good. "Well, you're not in any rush, are you? We were just about to cut the cake. You should join us."

"Oh, er-" The Doctor glanced at Yaz.

"We won't take no for an answer. Will we, Yaz?" She nudged her daughter's arm, failing to pick up on how stiff she'd gone all of a sudden. "Besides, I'm sure Sonya'll want to thank you for her present in person. Come on, let's get inside. Hope you like Victoria sponge, Doctor."

"Love it!" enthused the Doctor, warm smile slipping from her face the second Najia turned her back.

She exchanged an anxious look with Yaz, who was still too flustered to do much more than blow out her cheeks to exhibit her delayed relief at having successfully avoided getting caught. That had been close, they both knew. Perilously so. Enough, surely, to warrant putting an end to their efforts at sating such unholy desires for the time being.

And yet. 

As the Doctor closed the door behind them, Yaz's eyes raked over her body with a dangerous quantum of lechery. Didn't matter where they were; that they were surrounded on all sides by hindrances - Yaz wanted that body. She wanted to finish what they'd started. The Doctor started past her down the hall and Yaz caught her by the arm. Their eyes locked.

"Soon," vowed Yaz under her breath. It almost sounded like a threat.

The Doctor's eyes widened, but then Yaz reclaimed her hand and returned to the flat with a polite, practised-to-perfection smile pasted on her face. With the Doctor following closely behind, she weaved through the crowd and made her way to the doors near the balcony, where Sonya was so very clearly trying not to appear too bored by whatever anecdote one of their second cousins was attempting to regale her with.

"Son, look who's brought you a gift," called Yaz, all too aware that she was throwing her sister a much-needed life line.

"Oh, Yaz! There you are!" Sonya sounded nothing short of relieved, though when her eyes slid past her on her way over and found their way to the Doctor, she forgot to show her the same warm greeting. "Uh. Hi, Doctor." She looked to Yaz with a question in her eye. 

"Go on, Doctor." Yaz gave her girlfriend an encouraging elbow. 

"Wh - oh, right! This is for you," proclaimed the Doctor, presenting the gift with a convivial smile. "Eighteen's a big'un, eh? Brilliant number, is eighteen. Semi-perfect number. Did y'know horses have eighteen pairs of ribs? Excessive, if y'ask me, but who am I to judge? Two hearts, an' all that. Anyway. Great party. Don't really remember my eighteenth, to be honest." 

Sonya snorted. "I'll bet. How many drugs were you actually on?”

"Sonya," scolded Yaz, though the remark was accompanied by a resigned eyeroll.

"Joking! Er - thanks, Doctor," said Sonya, awkwardly accepting the gift and setting it down on the coffee table along with the rest of them. She looked between the Doctor and Yaz, narrowed eyes alluding to a sly kind of humour. "So. Bit weird, you showing up. Impromptu booty call, is it?"

Before Yaz could even think to take Sonya's obvious bait and retaliate with either a sharp word or a sharper smack, the lights were switched off and Hakim and Najia wandered in from the kitchen carrying a large Victoria sponge cake between them. Eighteen flames from eighteen candles cast animated shadows about the room; they danced to the tune of a flat full of out-of-tune people singing Happy Birthday in a discordant medley. Yaz sought some petty solace in the look of total mortification scored onto her sister’s face throughout the ordeal.

Yaz and the Doctor endured the cake cutting ceremony; humoured Hakim as he ranted about his latest conspiracy (those 5G towers – there was something sinister about them, wasn’t there?). Umbreen arrived and they sat with her for a while and listened to her stories and skirted around one in particular and it was the only thing all evening that had successfully held Yaz’s attention long enough to keep her mind from the gutter. But when her Nani’s attention was diverted elsewhere, it wasn’t long before Yaz’s mind was corrupted once more by the memory of the Doctor touching her in the hallway.

She tried to gauge the Doctor; figure out if her mind was still occupying the same dark, depraved place as Yaz’s. After all, it was she who had made the journey there for the sole purpose of seeking out the climax Yaz had so cruelly denied her. It was she who had pinned Yaz to the wall: pining and breathy and entirely at the mercy of her own desires.

Only, the Doctor was no amateur when it came to masking what lay beneath the surface. Yaz was finding it impossible to tell how she was feeling, and the more she laughed and joked around with her family, the less sure Yaz felt that they were still on the same wavelength. Had the moment passed? The way Yaz’s body reacted to every slight brush against the Doctor’s skin suggested it very much hadn’t for her.

After over an hour since the Doctor’s arrival, Yaz was in the kitchen stacking some of the empty plates and cups in the sink. She’d left the Doctor, as ever, at the centre of a small but decidedly enthralled audience as she enthusiastically recounted a scandalous run-in with a long dead celebrity. This is precisely why she was surprised, moments later, to feel a hand at the small of her back and feel the Doctor’s presence behind her.

“Is it soon yet?” she’d whispered, leaning over Yaz’s shoulder to speak into her ear.

Despite the two of them being the only ones in the kitchen, the Khans still inhabited an open-plan flat, which left them very much exposed to prying eyes. Yaz’s heart jumped at the contact, and though she craved nothing more than for said contact to deepen considerably, Yaz was still ever-wary of being spotted. She didn’t take her eyes off the sink.

“Thought you’d forgotten,” she said quietly.

“Must be mad if y’think I could ever forget about you, Yasmin Khan.” The Doctor joined her at the sink, picking up a dishcloth and pretending to make herself useful with it. They both glanced up to find that the majority of the room was engrossed either in conversation or in a Match of the Day rerun on the telly. “I’m dyin’ to get you alone, Yaz. If I wait any longer…”

Yaz couldn’t help but drop a glass she’d been rinsing into the sink when she felt the Doctor’s hand curl around her thigh and skirt up the inside of her leg. It hit the basin with a resounding clang. A couple of heads turned, but intrigue didn’t linger (a small clemency to Yaz’s rapid, hummingbird heart). The Doctor’s face remained a blank canvas. Unseen behind the counter, however, her fingers groped at Yaz with abandon and Yaz couldn’t resist squeezing her thighs together in an effort to maximise the pressure between them. Her shaky exhale was subtle enough to be missed by all except the Doctor’s keen ears.

“Go to my room and wait for me,” Yaz urged without looking at the Doctor. She was done resisting. If she didn’t get a fix soon, she thought the withdrawal just might kill her. “I’ll finish up here and follow you, yeah?”

“Don’t be too long, Yaz.” She gave the inside of Yaz’s thigh a light squeeze before withdrawing. “Please.”

Yaz’s gaze flickered up at her family once more before returning to the plate at hand. “I won’t. But keep your hands to yourself ‘til I get there.” Finally, she dared to actually brave her girlfriend’s face. _There_ was that blistering, debauched gleam in her eye Yaz had been waiting to see again all evening. “Sit completely still – and wait. Okay?”

The Doctor’s throat bobbed and she nodded her assent. Yaz tilted her head over her shoulder; a dismissal. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the Doctor slip – discrete as a wraith – out of the room and down the hall. Yaz’s hands trembled their way through the rest of the dishes. She couldn’t be sure if it was nerves, adrenaline, or outright, no-two-ways-about-it lust. It didn’t matter. This was happening. They were really going to hook up in Yaz’s bedroom, mere metres from not only her parents and sister but also a vast portion of her extended family. The sheer degeneracy of it sent a thrill up Yaz’s spine.

It took her only a few minutes more to finish rinsing the rest of the dishes, but something made her linger at the sink longer than was necessary. It was this: the image of the Doctor, motionless and gripped by anticipation, twitching not a muscle while she sat on Yaz’s bed and did nothing but think about her. Agonise over her.

That last glass, she polished until it was spotless. Until she was sure she was wearing down the edges with the rag. Until she figured the Doctor had been sitting pretty long enough.

Waiting until her exit route was unimpeded and all eyes were averted, Yaz at last followed the Doctor down the hall and into her bedroom. The door creaked open and she winced, casting one last furtive glance over her shoulder before slipping inside through the narrow opening she’d created and closing the door stealthily behind her. When she turned, all her nerves went mute.

The Doctor was sitting cross-legged atop her duvet with her hands flat on her thighs, facing the door. Facing Yaz. She didn’t so much as twitch a muscle even now. She waited. Like she’d been told. Yaz leaned against the door, biting her lip. _Alone at last_. And what was she going to do about it?

“Come here, Doctor.” The proficient command of her own voice came as a pleasant surprise.

The Doctor was up in a flash; across the room between one heartbeat and the next. She came to stand right before Yaz, and she was smiling but not with her mouth. Her golden eyes fizzed in the lamplight. Yaz was always floored by the Doctor’s eyes.

“You remember what I told you I was gonna do to you? On the phone earlier?” prompted Yaz, cupping her hands loosely around the Doctor’s neck.

The memory invoked a sleazy smile like an ancient incantation might invoke a nefarious spirit. The Doctor’s own hands came to rest on Yaz’s hips. “’Course I remember. Weren’t likely to forget a thing like-“

Yaz crashed into the Doctor’s mouth without ceremony and the rest of her sentence met its untimely death upon Yaz’s tongue. The Doctor was entirely forthcoming in her eager reciprocation of the kiss, lips parting to allow Yaz’s tongue to seek out her own; to explore the foreign terrain beyond the threshold of her teeth completely uninhibited. Yaz fisted her hands in the fabric of the Doctor’s shirt and shoved her backwards, their lips never breaking contact, until her body slammed roughly into the wall. The Doctor grunted, but the impact only spurred her on. Her fingers dug deeper into Yaz’s sides, holding her so close their chests were pressed flush together and the idea of breathing room became but a fantastical notion.

Yaz raked a hand through the Doctor’s hair and tightened her grip. When Yaz yanked her head back to better expose her throat, the Doctor curled a lip in totally masochistic appreciation. Yaz ducked her head to the curve of the Doctor’s neck, fastening her teeth to the more sensitive areas of the Doctor’s skin, and the Doctor bit back a satisfied groan.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for _ages_. God, Yaz, all I’ve wanted to do all day is reach out and touch you,” she confessed. Yaz was unrelenting at her throat, nipping the skin in such a way that she knew from experience drove the Doctor insane. “When we were – when we were sitting on the sofa, y’remember? Next to your cousin. All I could concentrate on was – was your thigh up against mine. I swear, y’were doing it on purpose.”

“Coat,” said Yaz in lieu of a command, dragging the Doctor far enough from the wall by her belt loops that she could shuck off her coat, only to be slammed right back up against it once the garment was removed in its entirety. She tugged the Doctor’s suspenders off her shoulders, her mouth this time finding purchase on the opposite side of the Doctor’s neck. “Carry on.”

Eyes closed, the Doctor threaded the fingers of one hand through Yaz’s hair. The other cupped her roughly from behind, the fabric of the dress riding up where she squeezed her - firm and bruising. “I’d have fucked you right there outside your flat if your mum hadn’t walked out. I’d have knelt down and eaten you right there for anyone to come across us. I didn’t even care, Yaz. I don’t care right now. All I can think about is how much I want you. Nothing else matters. _God_ , Yaz - y’listenin’? Nothing else matters except this.”

Each of the Doctor’s words were like sparks to gunpowder. Yaz had untucked the Doctor’s shirts and her hands were presently roaming across the taut skin of her toned abs. Her fingers found the hem of her sports bra and she pushed the fabric up off her chest impatiently, palming somewhat clumsily at her breasts. Her lips found the Doctor’s once more and they collided so harshly the Doctor’s head smacked against the wall. Yaz was about to pull back and check she was all right but then the Doctor’s vulgar grip on her ass tightened, holding her in place, and her lips chased Yaz’s own when they drew back by mere millimetres. Not so much a reassurance, but a plea _._

 _Don’t stop_.

Yaz was beyond happy to comply.

Twisting one of the Doctor’s erect nipples between her thumb and forefinger, she mouthed at the other over the fabric of her shirt. Her teeth sank into the soft material and she felt the Doctor’s hard nub catch between them. The Doctor moaned – too loud.

One hand flying to clamp a clammy palm over the Doctor’s mouth, Yaz froze with her ear turned towards the door. They both went still; listened. Over haggard breathing and racing pulses, only the murmur of distant conversation and the occasional static cheer from the TV could be heard. The moment stretched on, ostensibly endless for how Yaz’s very rational anxieties at being caught distended it in her mind. When she was sure the Doctor’s slip up had, by grace of whatever deity in the sky had not yet turned in abject horror away from them, flown under the radar, her pupils snapped like rubber bands back towards the Doctor.

“You really, really need to watch that mouth, Doctor,” she warned, and her voice was black and a touch frightening even to herself. Her hand slipped from the Doctor’s mouth to grip her jaw. “Quiet, now. Y’got it? No more slip ups like that out of you.”

The Doctor tried to nod but Yaz was holding her jaw too tightly for it to present as much more than a tremble. “I understand, Yaz. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Yaz pressed into her, jamming a leg between her thighs and leaning all her weight into it. The Doctor squirmed beautifully beneath her. “Do you wanna make it up to me, Doctor? You wanna get back in my good books?”

“Please, Yaz,” entreated the Doctor, both her hands wrapped loosely around Yaz’s wrist. Her eyes were wide not with fear but with arousal, and every time Yaz shifted the knee at her crotch, the Doctor whimpered softly. “Please. Let me make it up to you. I wanna be good, Yaz. I wanna be so good for you.”

Yaz pressed her forehead against the Doctor’s. Their lips touched briefly, but Yaz didn’t kiss her, and when the Doctor leaned in the close the marginal distance between them, Yaz pushed her head back and her grip tightened. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” she growled into her ear. Before the words could even settle in the air, thick and syrupy as they were, Yaz had completely released her hold on the Doctor and took several steps backwards.

Flushed, the Doctor breathed heavily with her back pressed flat to the wall, eyes fixed squarely – but not boldly - on Yaz. Almost imperceptibly, Yaz quirked a concerned eyebrow. A check-in; a show of care. In turn, the Doctor offered an equally imperceptible nod. Yaz relaxed. The Doctor peeled herself off the wall, and then she peeled her clothes off. Boots and socks, typically flung recklessly to one side, were removed with deliberation and set down quietly at the foot of Yaz’s bed. She watched Yaz closely while she slipped out of her culottes; the way her full-bodied black eyes fell – unabashed – over her pale, slender legs. Her galaxy-print boxers were next. Yaz watched, attentive, as the Doctor made quick work of those.

After her shirts, the last thing to be removed was her sports bra. She’d been sweating profusely enough at Yaz’s touch that it made for awkward removal of the article. When it caught in her hair, Yaz breathed a laugh and offered her help. She tugged it gently over her head, careful not to catch her earrings, and let it drop to the floor at their feet. When the Doctor looked at her then with her perfectly dishevelled hair and her cotton candy cheeks - whole body bared in an unfettered display of trust - Yaz couldn’t stop herself from kissing her.

The Doctor moulded her naked body around Yaz’s fully clothed one - and they kissed. It was impassioned and imbued with so much mutual languishing; so much primal fucking need and not just to fuck but to taste and to hold and to love. To become one.

Yaz disentangled their lips and a thread of saliva snapped like string in the space between their mouths. She wiped at her chin with the back of her hand. The Doctor watched; entranced.

“Bed.”

Obedient as ever, the Doctor climbed onto Yaz’s pristine sheets while Yaz herself slipped out of her wedged heels. For now, she opted to keep the dress on. The Doctor, sitting against the headboard, oozed a palpable miasma of anticipation as she watched Yaz round the bed towards her. Rather than climb on beside her, Yaz grabbed the Doctor by her ankles and yanked her further down the mattress so that she was flat on her back in the centre.

Running a lazy hand up the length of the Doctor’s leg, Yaz took a few selfish seconds to drink in the sight of her girlfriend. Every peak and valley, every goose bump and every freckle and every mole. All perfect.

Part of her was tempted to say just as much – but this wasn’t that.

No, this was something else entirely.

Standing at the side of the bed, Yaz hooked her thumb over the Doctor’s bottom teeth. She pushed it in past the knuckle, held it; held the Doctor’s eyes (alight like twin suns). When she dragged her thumb slowly out along the Doctor’s warm tongue, it came away glistening with saliva.

“Good,” she cooed, dragging the thumb down the Doctor’s lower lip. “D’you think you can take somethin’ bigger than my thumb, Doctor? Hm?” She pushed her thumb back into the Doctor’s mouth without warning and this time there was suction; the Doctor closed her lips around Yaz’s knuckle and Yaz felt her tongue gyrate around it. When she pulled it out, there was a quiet _pop_ to accompany the motion. “Well? Can you take more?”

The Doctor, eager to impress, nodded her head. “I can take it. If it’d made you happy, I can take it.”

Yaz hummed her amusement. “Oh, it’d make me more than happy, babe.” She flicked her eyes up and down the length of the Doctor’s body. “Your hands are looking pretty idle right now, aren’t they? Keep ‘em busy, will you?”

While the Doctor let her hands roam slowly, deliberately, over the milky expanse of her body, Yaz approached the desk tucked beneath her window in the corner of the room. After fishing a small key from beneath a plant pot on the sill, Yaz crouched down to unlock the drawer. She glanced over her shoulder to check in on the Doctor, to find one of her hands kneading her breast and the other sliding past her pelvis towards the gap between her thighs.

“Not there,” Yaz said without rising. She kept her voice hushed, for obvious reasons, but the razor’s edge to her tone was undeniable. “That’s mine. Only mine.”

Watching until she was satisfied that the Doctor’s hand had drifted far enough from forbidden territory, Yaz proceeded to pull open the recently unlocked drawer. The contents rattled and rolled against the grain and Yaz could all but feel the Doctor’s anxious eyes boring holes into her back to try and get a look in. Affording herself a sinister smile she knew the Doctor couldn’t see, Yaz reached inside the drawer and wrapped her hand around a black, silicone toy of moderate size. When she turned around, nudging the draw shut with her hip, she watched the Doctor’s eyes land on the object. A revelatory but brief twist of her lips gave away her excitement.

Yaz walked over to the end of the bed. When she made the universal gesture for, ‘ _come here’,_ with her fingers, the Doctor sat up and scooted to the edge of the mattress. Yaz pulled her the rest of the way, positioning her so that she now stood between the Doctor’s thighs.

She put a hand at the back of the Doctor’s head. “If you can’t keep quiet, Doctor,” she began, trailing the tip of the toy along the length of the Doctor’s slightly parted lips, “I’ll find other ways to shut you up. Now, open your mouth.”

The Doctor’s jaw fell open. Yaz, holding the toy at her crotch, pushed the tip just past her lips. Carnal desire rolling her off in waves, the Doctor wrapped her hands around the backs of Yaz’s thighs and took the toy further, assisted by a modest thrust of Yaz’s hips. Their eyes met as the Doctor leaned deeper into it, lips sliding further along the silicone and jaw prising wider apart. Yaz’s hand rested, unimposing, in the Doctor’s hair.

“How do I feel? Hm?” She eased the toy back out, only to again thrust slowly back in, and the Doctor hummed her approval around it. “Y’look so good with my cock in your mouth, babe.”

Galvanised by Yaz’s approval, the Doctor increased the pace at which she sucked the dildo. Every time she pushed it back into her mouth, she took it a little further, until the tip was prodding the back of her throat. Yaz could only gaze upon her girlfriend in open awe; at the sloppy, greedy, zealous manner in which she sucked Yaz off.

“Hold it,” she whispered the next time the Doctor’s lips reached the base of the toy. The Doctor stilled, and the tip tickled the back of her throat, and she coughed around it. Eyes watering, she looked up at Yaz. Her fingers dug harder into the backs of her thighs when Yaz nudged the toy, leniently, an infinitesimal amount deeper. When she Doctor started to choke on it, Yaz pulled away. Breathing heavily, the Doctor wiped at the spit coating her chin. Yaz leaned down to press a kiss to her wet lips. “Y’did so well, Doctor. I’m proud of you.”

Somewhere in the flat, a door slammed. Yaz jumped back, staring at the wall. It sounded like the noise had come from the bathroom; the door had a habit of slamming when a window was left open. She looked down at the Doctor. “We’re gonna have to get a move on if we wanna avoid another interruption, aren’t we?” She jutted her chin towards the back of the bed. “Lie down, babe.” 

The Doctor backed further up the mattress and when she was on her back, Yaz climbed on the bed after her, crawling over her until she was straddling her thigh. Toy momentarily abandoned on the sheets beside them, Yaz pinned the Doctor’s wrists down above her head and kissed her. She tasted like cake and rubber and when Yaz bit her lip, she could tell she was trying not to make a sound for fear of retaliation. She smirked against the Doctor’s mouth. Testing the Doctor’s limits, Yaz drove her bare knee up between her legs. She felt how wet she was straight away; her arousal slick and warm against her skin. The Doctor bucked her hips at the pressure but the sound she made was no louder than the softest moan.

“You’re being so good. Keep quiet, okay?” Yaz released one of the Doctor’s wrists in favour of palming a breast. Teasing the nipple between her fingers, she ran her tongue up the length of the Doctor’s throat – where a couple of purple marks were beginning to show – and the Doctor sighed beneath her.

“Please, Yaz,” she breathed, desperation colouring her every syllable. Hips writhing, the Doctor was nigh on grinding against Yaz’s knee. Yaz’s leg felt sticky with it. “I need you.”

One of the Doctor’s hands had found its way around the back of Yaz’s dress and she cupped her, forcing her knee deeper into her crotch. The Doctor grunted. Yaz felt bewitched by the visible thrum of her pulse at her throat and by the near blackness of her intoxicated eyes. Still, she had to remember that she was in charge. They both did. Yaz gripped the Doctor by her hips and she pinned her flat against the bed, eliciting a distressed whine. When Yaz pressed a silencing finger to her lips, the Doctor instead opened her mouth and started to suck on it wetly. In her eyes, there was an unequivocal plea. Her teeth grazed Yaz’s knuckle. Yaz bit her lip.

Still straddling the Doctor’s leg, Yaz leaned back on her haunches and picked up the dildo. She dragged it down the Doctor’s lip, along her chest, past her stomach. The Doctor’s pupils followed; rapt. “You’ve been waiting a long time, haven’t you, Doctor?” She let the very tip come to rest, featherlight, on the Doctor’s clit. When the Doctor thudded her head against the mattress and canted her hips, Yaz pressed her free hand against the Doctor’s stomach and forced her back down.

“You’ve got no idea, Yaz,” she whimpered. “You’re all I ever think about. It drives me up the wall, I-“

Her words got caught in her throat when Yaz ran the tip, without much pressure, along the length of her silky folds and then back up again. She tapped it against her clit, sadistic and slow. The Doctor’s jaw trembled with want.

“Tell me how much you want it,” Yaz pressed, leaning over the Doctor so close that their lips touched when either of them spoke. She continued to tap, tap, tap the toy against her.

“I want it so bad. I wanna feel you inside me, Yaz – all of you,” the Doctor urged, hands loosely cupping Yaz’s neck. “I’ll be good, I’ll – I’ll be quiet, I promise. I just _need_ you to take me. Right now. Before I ex – _oh_!”

Without warning, Yaz pushed the toy inside the Doctor. It eased in, sliding along wet walls, and the Doctor stretched around it without resistance. Yaz thought she could see a moan rising in the Doctor’s throat and so she mashed their mouths together. Sure enough, a second later, a muffled groan landed hot on her tongue. Propped up on one arm, Yaz kissed the Doctor quiet and didn’t stop until the toy was inside of her to the hilt. The Doctor’s body shuddered with pleasure.

“Can you feel me inside you, babe?”

“Fuck,” said the Doctor by way of reply.

Yaz grinned. “You’re gonna be quiet now, right? ‘Cause I’m about to fuck you, Doctor, and if you aren’t quiet then I won’t get to finish.”

“I’ll be quiet. Promise. Not a peep out of me.” Her eyes darted down before rising to meet Yaz’s again. “ _Please._ Fuck me, Yaz. I’ll be so quiet.”

Yaz pulled the toy almost all the way out and then plunged it back in and the Doctor bit her lip so hard she was surprised she didn’t draw blood in her efforts to keep quiet. She threw her head back, skin of her neck pulled taut, and Yaz sunk her teeth into it as she continued to thrust the toy inside her at a steady pace. Yaz was having fun denying the Doctor the simple pleasure of being as loud and as vocal about her pleasure as she wanted. Usually, she made such a delicious racket. But this – this exquisite torture – was almost as enthralling to behold.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the slam of the toy against the Doctor; the harsh, wet noises it made as Yaz pounded her with it - and the Doctor’s muted whimpers. Yaz mouthed at the Doctor’s breasts, dividing her attentions between each of her pebbled nipples. Her whole body tensed beneath Yaz with the strain it took not to cry out every time she used her teeth. It got to the point that the Doctor had to clamp her own hand over her mouth, eyes squeezed shut and hips bucking against the toy.

“Fuck, Yaz, you’re so big,” gasped the Doctor through parted fingers. “You feel so good. I need – I need – “

“What do you need?” Yaz grunted, arm pumping faster; harder.

The Doctor just about managed to pant out one word.

“Tongue.”

Yaz’s lips brushed against the lobe of the Doctor’s ear when she whispered, “Tongue, what?”

“P – Please, Yaz. I want you to eat me while you fuck me. Please.”

After giving the Doctor’s earlobe one last tug with her teeth, Yaz pulled away. The movements of her arm slowed and she crawled backwards until her head hovered between the Doctor’s legs, her free arm coiling around the top of the Doctor’s thigh. She leered down at her while she drove the toy inside her, blowing her cheeks out at the ease with which the toy slipped in and out; at how it glistened with the Doctor’s sticky, sweet sap. She looked up at the Doctor through the valley of her breasts.

“You better be so fucking quiet, Doctor. I’m serious.”

The Doctor nodded; she’d been growing increasingly inarticulate as the afternoon went on. Her hands were fisted into the sheets at either side of her, her teeth buried into her bottom lip. Even from between her legs, Yaz could make out the beads of sweat running down her forehead. God, but she was a sight.

Yaz had to look away.

Without ceasing the administrations of the toy, Yaz dipped her head between the Doctor’s thighs. Usually, the moment her tongue found the Doctor’s clit, the Doctor released a loud, satisfied moan. True to her word, this time, she held it back. Yaz could physically feel how hard it was for her, though. Every time she flicked her tongue – especially if the motion happened to coincide with another thrust of the toy – her whole body trembled with barely accomplished restraint.

The Doctor knotted her hand in Yaz’s hair. The other one, she used to guide the hand Yaz wasn’t pounding her with to her throat. Yaz glanced up when the Doctor wrapped the hand around her neck and the Doctor nodded her encouragement. Yaz squeezed her fingers. The Doctor’s rapid pulse (that manic, double heartbeat), raced against her fingertips and she rasped a guttural groan – just hushed enough to let slide.

It didn’t take long, after that.

Yaz continued to eat the Doctor out, ramming the toy into her and squeezing her neck and absolutely unrelenting on all fronts. The hand in Yaz’s hair tightened its grip considerably, and she noticed the Doctor beginning to tremble; bucking her hips in order to maximise and maintain the crucial pressure she needed to reach the climax she’d been waiting all morning and all afternoon for. This time, Yaz didn’t press her back down.

“Yaz, fuck, I’m so close. I’m so, so close,” she whined tightly around the hand at her throat. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t – _god_ , don’t stop.”

“It’s okay, Doctor, you’ve been so good,” Yaz assured her. “Now come for me, babe. Come on. Come. It’s okay. You’re allowed.”

It was almost instantaneous. The moment Yaz fastened her lips to the Doctor’s inflamed clit once more, increasing the already backbreaking pace at which she was ramming the toy into her and proceeding to tighten her hold on the Doctor’s neck, she came undone.

The Doctor arched her back off the bed, hips in the air. Yaz chased her with her mouth, relentless in the administrations of her tongue, and continued to fuck her all the way through her paroxysmal orgasm. Yaz felt the reverberations of the Doctor’s groan at her fingertips but it didn’t make it much further than that when she squeezed her neck hard enough to cut the sound off before it could manifest into something louder.

As the Doctor’s muscles slowly began to relax and her body collapsed back onto the bed, Yaz released her throat and slowed both her tongue and her arm to a gradual stop. She pulled the lubricious toy out of the Doctor. With the Doctor’s foggy, half-lidded eyes on her – and her hand still in her hair - Yaz licked the length of it and sucked the tip.

“Fuck, Yaz,” heaved the Doctor. Her face was red and her eyes shone with tears; symptoms of being choked through her climax.

Once she’d tossed the toy onto the bed, Yaz climbed onto her girlfriend and kissed her with abandon. She cupped the Doctor’s face and the Doctor draped her arms around her neck, tongue flitting into Yaz’s mouth like she couldn’t wait to get a taste of herself. That salty musk; those heavenly juices. Yaz imparted them willingly.

Strength almost fully recovered, the Doctor flipped Yaz onto her back while they kissed. Her hands slid up Yaz’s sides and she groped at her breasts over the fabric of her dress. Yaz covered the Doctor’s hands with her own and pressed into them, inciting a rougher touch. When the Doctor pinched a nipple tightly and without mercy, the respondent jerk of Yaz’s neck resulted in her lip getting caught painfully in the Doctor’s teeth and she felt the soft skin tear like paper.

Worry creased the Doctor’s face. She pulled away. “Yaz, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine,” breathed Yaz. Sure enough, she felt a hot drop of blood pool at the rim of her lip. “More than fine. Just kiss me.”

After hesitating only minutely, the Doctor complied. The kiss was tinged with a sharp – but not unpleasant – pain; accentuated whenever Yaz urged silently for a deeper, harsher kiss. She wasn’t fragile. She didn’t want to feel fragile.

“God, this bloody dress,” the Doctor grumbled when her fingers kept getting caught on the sequins. “Can I get you out of it, now? I’m dyin’ to see you.”

Yaz laughed. “Sure.”

The Doctor leaned back, allowing Yaz to sit up. Reaching behind her, the Doctor unzipped her dress and tugged it impatiently down her form until it was bunched at her waist. When Yaz lay back and lifted her hips, the Doctor yanked it the rest of the way off eagerly. The dress was thrown across the room. 

Hovering above her, the Doctor allowed her eyes to rake without shame or shyness over Yaz’s body. She was down to her underwear and a bra. Plain black; she hadn’t been expecting anybody to see them. And yet the Doctor still regarded her as if she were the most stunning thing her age-old eyes had ever chanced; as if she were some wickedly divine being cast down by the heavens for the pure sacrilege of her depravity and her beauty. The Doctor licked her bottom lip, shaking her head softly.

“Are you actually gonna touch me, or you just gonna stare at me?” baited Yaz.

“Sorry, you’re just – right, sorry.”

Playfully rolling her eyes, Yaz hooked a hand around the back of the Doctor’s neck and pulled her back in. When their lips met, the Doctor set to work on unclasping Yaz’s bra.

Gone in seconds.

The Doctor pressed a series of kisses from Yaz’s lips to her neck to her collarbone to her chest. When her tongue honed in on the hard nub of Yaz’s nipple, Yaz exhaled heavily – reminding herself to keep quiet.

If she listened, she could make out the beat of a distantly familiar song. With any luck, her family were all engrossed in a game of Pictonary or else too busy watching Sonya open her presents in front of everyone like a young monarch to notice their absence. Nevertheless, she was adamant that they not draw any unwanted attention. Frankly, she was shocked she’d been able to keep the Doctor so quiet; it must have been a cold day in hell.

One of the Doctor’s hands ghosted along Yaz’s abs on its way to her pelvis, where her fingers skirted the hem of her underwear in something of a taunting dance. Yaz wasn’t playing. She took hold of the Doctor’s hand and pressed her fingers against her. Yaz gritted her teeth. She’d been desperate for that pressure ever since the Doctor pinned her to the wall in the hallway.

“Don’t fuck about, Doctor,” she cautioned. It wasn’t like they had all the time in the world, after all. How long had they even been at it? Yaz couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Doctor, a trace of humour blemishing her reply.

She rubbed slow circles against Yaz over the material; soaked through as it was. Yaz keened into her touch. Bending her knees, Yaz pulled the Doctor up by her hair to catch her lips with her own. They moaned - probably a touch louder than was wise - against one another, and the Doctor’s fingers pressed a little deeper; pirouetted a little faster.

“You’re so fucking wet,” the Doctor lauded.

“Inside,” growled Yaz.

The Doctor breathed a laugh that landed hot on Yaz’s lips and sat back, proceeding to peel Yaz’s sticky underwear down her toned legs. The second they were removed, the Doctor was on top of her again.

Her chest bore down against Yaz’s own, sweaty skin sticking together, and she ran a quick finger along Yaz’s burning arousal. Yaz’s body went tense and her eyelids fluttered, fingernails finding purchase in the skin of the Doctor’s back when the first finger glided inside of her. It slipped in all the way to the knuckle. Not a modicum of friction.

Yaz cursed under her breath. “Another one.”

“Already?”

“Doctor.”

The Doctor shut up. Yaz stretched around the Doctor’s second finger and, as she began to pump them inside of her, her fingernails raked marks of white and red into the Doctor’s flesh.

Because she couldn’t risk making too loud a noise, Yaz exhibited her satisfaction with another rabid kiss. It was so intense and reckless that the cut on her lip opened up again but this time, rather than recoil, the Doctor swiped her tongue over it and licked the wound clean. That alone sent another rush of wet heat rushing to meet the Doctor’s fingers and the Doctor purred around Yaz’s tongue.

“Why don’t you make your mouth a bit more useful, babe?” prompted Yaz, panting heavily at the Doctor’s ceaseless inflictions.

“Oh! Almost forgot, I actually brought y’somethin’,” exclaimed the Doctor. “Wait right here.” She removed her hand and Yaz’s body slumped. She mewled her displeasure when the Doctor kissed her cheek and climbed off the bed. “Trust me, you’ll like this.”

Pitching a sigh, Yaz rolled onto her side and watched the Doctor cross the room to where her coat was pooled on the floor, eyes laden with lust. The Doctor crouched down and proceeded to rifle through the pockets. Yaz was too busy ogling to notice the increasingly concerned frown on her face, until she went white as a sheet entirely and turned around holding –

“Is that a rock?” Yaz stitched her brows together.

In the Doctor’s hand was a palm-sized obsidian rock; shimmering in the light. “Uh… this – this isn’t for you.”

“I were gonna say,” quipped Yaz. “Not sure what y’expect to do with that.”

“No, Yaz, you don’t understand – I brought this for Sonya,” explained the Doctor, voice strained with growing panic. “It’s her birthday present. I mean, it were supposed to be. All the way from Silozine. Remember when we went there? Bad Luck Mountain?”

Yaz arched her brow. “You brought my sister a rock from Bad Luck Mountain?”

“Well, funny thing, the rocks are actually s’posed to bring _good_ luck if you –“

“Hang on.” Yaz sat up. At last, the penny was dropping. “You already gave Sonya her present. So, if that’s in your hand right now, what’s in that box you gave to her?”

The Doctor swallowed. “Um, I’ve a feeling it could be the, uh – but, it’s only a small one and, y’know, she probably won’t even know –“

“Doctor.” Yaz fixed two grave eyes on her girlfriend. “What’s in the box?”

“It’s a vibrator,” she blurted with a wince.

Yaz’s blood ran cold.

“Oh, fuck.” Yaz scrambled off the bed and darted straight for her dress. The Doctor rubbed her neck sheepishly as she watched her wrestle into it.

“It’s not that bad, surely. I mean, she’s eightee – “

“She opens the presents in front of everyone, Doctor. The whole family,” Yaz whisper-shouted. “Come zip me up. God, I can’t _believe_ you. How do you get a rock and a vibrator mixed up?”

“In my defence – “

“I don’t care about your defence.” As soon as the Doctor had finished zipping Yaz up, she shot her an especially withering glare and headed for the door. “Put your clothes back on.”

“Yaz, I’m sorry.”

“Clothes.”

Yaz slipped out of her bedroom. Her heart was still racing and her skin still burning with pent up and unfulfilled arousal, but this definitely took precedence. As she walked into the living room, she noted with unbridled terror that all her family were gathered around Sonya where she sat on the sofa unwrapping presents. She resisted cursing out loud.

Politely manoeuvring through the guests, Yaz made her way to the forefront of the small crowd. At that precise moment, she was afforded the front-row pleasure of watching Sonya pluck the Doctor’s present from the coffee table. Red ribbon and all.

Her mum and dad were both perched on either side of Sonya, watching with blissfully unaware smiles as Sonya tugged the bow loose. Her uncles, aunts, cousins, Nani – all of them standing with their eyes fixed on that box as if Sonya were about to open it to reveal the secrets of the universe. Perhaps not the secrets of the universe, but definitely the secret of Yaz’s sex life.

“Sonya.”

Sonya looked at her. Everyone looked at her. “About time, Yaz. This one’s from your – from the Doctor, right? Let me guess, it’s something with rainbows on it?”

“Actually, Son, the Doctor needs that back. Been a bit of a mix up.”

“Very funny, Yaz.”

“Son-“

Too late. Sonya lifted the lid and peered inside. At first, she frowned, but Yaz saw the precise moment realisation hit like a double decker bus and her sister’s jaw went slack. Graciously, just as their parents leaned in to get a better look, Sonya crammed the lid back on. She glared at Yaz, cheeks a few hues darker though whether from anger or humiliation Yaz couldn’t be sure.

“Well, love? What did the Doctor get you?” asked Hakim.

Sonya cleared her throat. Yaz prepared herself. “Like she said, must be a mix up. Box is empty.”

Yaz mouthed a silent thank you and Sonya sent her a piercing look she knew to translate as: _you owe me one_.

That was an understatement. 

Sonya opened the rest of the presents and, when she was through and their relatives all returned to their respective conversations and dispersed a little, Yaz managed to corner Sonya on her way to the bathroom.

“Son!” Yaz called, stepping out in front of her and blocking her path to the door.

“Don’t even look at me, Yaz.”

At this exact moment, the Doctor was emerging from Yaz’s bedroom. Fully clothed – _thank god_. Although, Yaz noticed, a purple mark as stark as a wine stain on white carpet poked its ugly head out from the collar of her shirt. She only hoped that Sonya wouldn’t pick up on it. But it was Sonya. The odds were microscopic.

“Oh, great, the woman herself.” Sonya folded her arms and looked between them with distaste. “So, who’s perverted idea was it to give wrap me up a vibrator in a bow and leave me to open it in front of our entire family? Is this revenge for something? ‘Cause I can seriously never keep up to where we’re at on who was a dick last. And this is a bit extreme, Yaz. ‘Specially for you.”

“It wasn’t-“

“It were my bad,” interjected the Doctor. “Sorry, mate, it was meant to be this.” The Doctor proffered the rock with an apologetic smile. “Brings good luck. Sort of.”

Sonya stared at the rock blankly. She looked at Yaz. “Is she serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“What?” The Doctor looked offended. “Everyone loves a good rock, don’t they? And everyone likes a bit of good luck.”

“Yeah, because it’s brought us so much luck,” rebuked Yaz, shooting the Doctor a silencing glower. “Son, I’m really sorry. The Doctor just got it mixed up in her rush.”

Sonya all but gagged. “Ew, Yaz, I don’t need to be hearing about how eager she was to get here and screw your brains out.” She reached into her back pocket. Yaz half expected the flask to be making a return; instead she pulled out the gift box. “Please, please, take this off my hands so I can go wash them a billion times.”

Lips pursed, Yaz accepted the box. “I owe you one.”

“Oh, I know you do. And next time, if y’wanna be less obvious about the fact that you were going at it like rabbits,” started Sonya, eyeing the Doctor’s neck, “Try a bit of concealer. Works wonders.” She sidled past Yaz towards the bathroom. Just before she closed the door behind her, she shot out one last jibe. “Enjoying banging your weirdo milf, sis.”

The Doctor looked at Yaz, nose scrunching. “What’s a milf?”

Yaz shoved the box into the Doctor’s hands and marched past her, back towards the living room. She’d been intending to head for the balcony for some fresh air (she was still feeling particularly hot under the collar and she thought it might do her some good to get out of their stuffy flat), but her mum had other ideas.

“Oh, Yaz, love,” she called out as she walked by the kitchen. “Would you mind taking the recycling out for us? It’s getting a bit full.”

“Oh, excellent, I’ll help!” answered the Doctor on Yaz’s behalf.

Yaz held her tongue.

A few minutes later, after dumping the recycling in the communal bin room a couple of floors below, Yaz and the Doctor stood waiting for the lift. Yaz hadn’t said a word to the Doctor, although the Doctor hadn’t stopped apologising. She was in the middle of doing exactly that when the doors opened and they stepped inside the lift.

“…I were just so excited to see you, as I always am, that I didn’t even – “

The moment the doors slid shut, Yaz spun around and slammed the Doctor up against the wall. She yelped in surprise. “Would you please just shut up and touch me?” breathed Yaz, holding the Doctor by her hips. She wanted to be mad at the Doctor – really – but she just couldn’t keep her hands off her. She’d never been so worked up in her life.

The Doctor relaxed against her. She smiled and it was infused with relief. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Swollen, aching lips met with a familiar burn and the Doctor groped Yaz through her dress. In her haste, she hadn’t put her underwear back on, and so Yaz’s nerves were decidedly more receptive to her touch when the Doctor palmed her breasts and ducked her head to tease a nipple in her mouth through the material. When the lift doors slid open again, neither of them even thought to check that nobody was waiting in the hallway.

The Doctor backed Yaz out of the lift, hands roaming freely over every inch of her, and soon they were right outside Yaz’s flat. Only once she had Yaz against the wall did the Doctor reach into her pocket and pull out that troublesome gift box. Plucking a small, bullet shaped vibrator from it, the Doctor tossed the box to one side. Yaz couldn’t help but laugh when she saw that it was, indeed, rainbow-hued. The Doctor pressed a button and the tapered end began to vibrate in her hands. She held it to Yaz’s nipple and Yaz moaned through clenched teeth at the maddening sensation of it against her nerves.

Kissing Yaz beneath her ear, the Doctor slipped her free hand up between her legs. She didn’t mess about, this time. The Doctor plunged her first finger in, and then her second. The feeling of her fingers curling inside her combined with the way she teased Yaz’s nipples with the vibrator had Yaz gripping onto the Doctor’s shoulders - not just for life but for purchase. She thought her legs might give beneath her; more so when the Doctor turned up the setting and switched nipples.

Somehow, the idea that somebody might walk by or even emerge from Yaz’s flat only added more kindling to the fire raging in her gut. There was a thrill to the risk, and adrenaline paired well with arousal.

“Get on your knees, Doctor,” Yaz commanded after a time.

The Doctor sunk to her knees. Yaz took the vibrator from her and hiked up her dress, slinging a leg over the Doctor’s shoulder. The Doctor kissed the inside of the thigh nearest her head as Yaz switched the vibrator up to its highest setting and, with one hand woven through the Doctor’s hair, held it to her clit. She had to refrain from hitting her head too harshly against the wall, but a loud expletive did make its way past her lips.

“I want your tongue inside me.”

Yaz angled the vibrator so that it didn’t get in the Doctor’s way when she curled her arm around Yaz’s thigh and leaned into her. The moment she thrust her tongue inside her, lapping at the abundant juices that had accumulated there, Yaz knew she wasn’t far from her zenith. The Doctor moaned her pleasure against Yaz while she licked her and that drove her even further towards the edge. With the vibrator working her clit rapidly and the Doctor eating her like she was her favourite meal – one of her hands working at a rock-hard nipple – Yaz finally, finally let go.

Biting her fist, Yaz let slip a euphoric moan with her eyes screwed shut and she surrendered to a violent, full-body shudder. Her hips canted forwards and the hand in the Doctor’s hair tightened like a vice and the Doctor didn’t slow down.

The pleasure was all-encompassing and briefly blinding.

Once her body ceased in its ecstatic spasms and the explosion of stars cleared from her vision, she clicked the vibrator off with her thumb. The second it was removed, however, the Doctor replaced it with her mouth.

“Doctor, I already – _oh_ …”

The Doctor took no prisoners. Clit still swollen and burning, it was only a matter of seconds before the Doctor worked her up to a second consecutive orgasm with her expert tongue. Yaz’s back arched unnaturally and she expelled the Doctor’s name like a curse. Her chest was still heaving and her cheeks still burning when, at last, the Doctor pulled away. She licked her lips and grinned devilishly at Yaz. 

“You really are somethin’ else,” commended Yaz; short-winded with release and wonder and infatuation. 

After smoothing her dress back down, she dragged the Doctor up by her suspenders that she might taste herself on the Doctor’s tongue. It was the first kiss all day that hadn’t been a needy preamble to something more and so their mouths moved slower, softer; far more patient. It was tart with Yaz’s flavours, and sweet with innocent intentions.

A giggle from beside them.

Pulling away from the Doctor like she’d burned her, the two of them whipped their heads towards the source of the laugh. Yaz’s heart plummeted to her stomach when she spotted the perpetrators: two not-actual-cousins she hadn’t even seen arrive, both of them at that frustrating age at which kissing was still a hugely hilarious scandal to be broadcasted to the world. In the throes of their passion, neither of them had heard the door open. Judging by the puckish glint in the eyes of their witnesses, that was to be a crucial blunder.

“Guys, wait – “

Yaz reached out but they were too fast, racing back into the flat with what could only be described as diabolical laughter. “Mum! Dad!” she heard them shout, loud enough for the next-door neighbours to hear. She cringed as she waited for the killing blow. “Guess what we just saw? Yasmin was _kissing_ someone! On the lips!”

” - and it was a girl!”

“ _What?_ ” she heard Najia say. “Where is she?”

The din of the party diminished.

Yaz closed her eyes. “Fuck.”

Could they run?

Was there time?

She locked eyes with the Doctor, who offered an empathetic but encouraging smile. “It’s gonna be fine, Yaz,” her glass-half-full girlfriend assured her.

“Right. Easy for you to say; you’ve not just been outed to your entire family.”

”I don’t say it easily; I say it knowin’ that you’re not gonna have to do it alone,” explained the Doctor. “Together?” she asked, offering Yaz her hand.

If she was being candid, Yaz would rather have bolted for the hills than face all those people at present, but something about the Doctor’s unfailing optimism and persistent support gave her pause, kept her feet firmly planted on solid ground; told her maybe things really would be all right. After a deliberating pause, she took the Doctor’s hand.

Yaz braced herself. 

Together, they walked through the door.

As soon as they stepped over the threshold, Yaz felt the eyes of every person in the room on her and part of her regretted not succumbing to her initial instinct to flee. When the ground did not heed her silent pleas and swallow her up, she was left with no choice but to press on. Her entire family gawked openly at their joined hands. Her parents looked between them, flummoxed. Umbreen gave a thumbs up.

In the kitchen, Sonya was draining the last of a drink Yaz would place bets on containing more vodka. She rolled her eyes. “This is the weirdest birthday ever.”

* * *

Later, once all the guests left – rather prematurely, Yaz might add – her parents corralled she and the Doctor into an interrogation at the dining room table. They assured Yaz that her sexuality was a non-issue, but their questions about the nature of the relationship were relentless.

That only worsened when Najia noticed the marks on the Doctor’s neck. How old was the Doctor, anyway? What did she do for a living? How exactly did they meet? Were they being safe? Yaz wanted nothing more than to fold in on herself, and only didn’t do so because the Doctor was holding her hand under the table the whole time.

Of all people, it was Sonya who finally rescued Yaz from the Spanish Inquisition she hadn’t been prepared for. She’d been sitting on the kitchen counter and watching the exchange without input (which was already unlike her), when she interrupted another of her mother’s questions to ask one of her own.

“Does she make you happy, Yaz?”

Her parents started; went a little red faced when they realised that was one such question they’d forgotten to ask. They looked to her for an answer.

Though Yaz didn’t need to think about it, she paused anyway; looked right into her girlfriend’s golden eyes and smiled when she squeezed her hand clandestinely. When she took her next breath, she felt as if she were exhaling all her anxieties and all her stresses and all her torment. She had the Doctor, and she had love, and everything would be okay. It would.

“She does,” Yaz answered confidently. “She makes me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Hakim and Najia exchanged the smallest of smiles.

“Brilliant,” muttered Sonya half-heartedly. “Well then, personally, I think we should call it a day on the third degree and have some more cake. Whose birthday is it, anyway?”

And so - over buttercream, board games, and dad jokes - Yaz’s family welcomed the Doctor into both their own and Yaz’s lives. It wasn’t long before Yaz found herself wondering what she’d ever been so frightened of, as she watched the Doctor make a loveable fool of herself and watched her parents indulge in her jokes and anecdotes and poor grasp at the rules of charades.

At one point, she stood in the kitchen and watched the scene unfold not as a participant but as a fly on the wall, and her heart burst with such immense relief.

This was love, and it was all around her.

The Doctor caught her eye across the room and smiled as if she knew what Yaz was thinking. Maybe she did. She joined Yaz in the kitchen and wrapped her arms around her waist from behind. “So. Happiest you’ve ever been, eh?”

“Yeah. I really am,” Yaz hummed as the Doctor rested her chin on her shoulder. “Don’t think it’s possible to _be_ any happier.”

“Yasmin Khan,” mumbled the Doctor against her ear. Her hand slipped from her waist and cupped her beneath her dress. Yaz’s cheeks flushed; heartrate tripling as her eyes darted towards her family. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone’s got the name of a good priest let me kno thanks 
> 
> tumblr: freefallthirteen


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